Eating The Cake
by anouk zucker
Summary: House's office, candles, massage oil... Wilson's done staring. Small missing scene from "5 to 9" House/Wilson, NC-17, smutty, spoilers for 6x14 obviously


Eating The Cake

Wilson stared open-mouthed at House.

He stepped fully into the office, letting go of the door handle and just stood there, hands hanging at his sides, his eyes darting quickly up and down House's body. House lay on a narrow table, a thin, soft-looking white blanket covering him from navel to ankle. His skin was gleaming, a silky, oily, warm quality to it. A woman was kneading the tendons in his slender neck, his head was tipped back a little, his eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. There were candles – scented candles, sandalwood – and there was a harp playing, light and playful, dreamily. Wilson's eyebrows touched his hairline. Oh – ipod, right!

House lifted his head a fraction, opening his heavy eyelids, looking at Wilson with hooded eyes, sleepy and content and lazy, and one corner of his mouth drew up in a half-smile. Wilson gaped.

"This is heaven!" House said in a low, silky voice. Wilson exhaled shakily. He knew he wasn't dreaming – he's just had a nurse drop a thick folder on his right foot five minutes ago and he's sure if this would have been a dream, that folder would have been his waking point. This was heaven, indeed.

He knew he was staring. Staring at House's mid-section and his very smooth-looking chest with the fair, fuzzy hair and soft nipples. And the long, round fold in the blanket just below his belly. Wilson's stomach flipped and he swallowed convulsively. He tried to keep a straight face but he knew his cheek was twitching. He was drawing attention to his flustered state and who would House be if he didn't catch on to what was going on with Wilson. House looked down at himself, then back up at Wilson, a slight frown on his face.

Wilson took two quick steps forward now standing beside House, not grasping his own actions. He was looking down at the soft blanket with all the naked skin underneath and his hands twitched.

"Wilson! Make your own appointment!" House eyed him suspiciously.

"Would you leave us alone for a few minutes?" Wilson said it to the massage-therapist, who's giving him an odd look. But the slight break in his voice, the beads of sweat on his brow and his sheer desperate look made her stop her ministrations, she took one of the towels and quickly made her way out of House's office.

"What's this all about?" House sat up impatiently and swung his legs over to one side, the blanket dropping into his lap.

"What?" Wilson stared at him, not being able to process anything said.

"What is so important that you have to interrupt my paradise-fantasy? Is it at least something juicy or why did you have to ban 'Eve' from paradise?" House smirked slightly and freed his legs from the blanket, dangling them. Wilson was now breathing heavily, his eyes roaming over House's body, only his groin covered, almost nothing left to the imagination. He suddenly felt as if he was given a new sense, like finally being able to smell after a long bout of the flu, like putting on glasses and finally being able to see what's in front of him. He guffawed feebly and muttered.

"Yes, it's juicy." And he took the last step between House's legs, crowding him, grabbing him around the waist and the back of his head, bringing their bodies and faces near. He looked into House's wide eyes, beautifully azure-blue this close up. He looks at House's open mouth, panting, like his own, so near, just two centimeters away, warmth and House's scent hitting him in the pit of his stomach.

House echoes his small involuntary moan and then they clack together like two magnets, soft lips and hard teeth, tasting, finally. He pulls House to him, rubbing against his naked, warm waist, breath hissing through both their noses, the sensation of being in each other's arms incredible.

Wilson broke their kiss, holding their brows together, both breathing each other's air, lips touching delicately, open mouths exhaling shaky breaths, both shocked by their heavy, heady arousal. They held still, as if taking in every sensation, not being able to act because it would be too much, like a short-circuit to their systems, sensory overload. But Wilson has to touch. He looked down, slowly moving his hand to the slip of blanket, taking it and pulling it away from House, baring him completely.

He heard and felt House gasp against his cheek and Wilson groaned as a wave of arousal took him, looking at House, naked, his penis smooth and thick resting in the same fair curls that cover his chest. He breathed in deeply, his hand touching House's hip, the smooth skin there.

And then his fingertips brushed the silky, hard shaft, House exhaling harshly, a soft tenor-note on his breath that made Wilson shiver violently. He felt House swell against his fingers, felt his breathing speed up, making him pant, his diaphragm convulsing on every harsh exhale. He found House's cheek with his other hand and pressed their lips together again, this time darting his tongue inside House's mouth. He felt the pliant lips open for him, yielding, letting him plunge and explore. He carefully moved his fingers again, wrapping them around House's penis, gradually, squeezing experimentally, marveling at House's open-mouthed moan, his voice soft and breathy.

He wants more, wants House to moan like this because of him, genuine, sweet agony. He dips into House's slack mouth again, then leaning back, taking in his tipped back head, his beautiful, heaving chest and his softly moving hips. Wilson shuddered again, watching his own hand move slowly, smooth, hot skin in his palm, sliding on the slick shaft underneath, pulling him to full arousal. He watched House's thighs spread wider, his pelvis tilt a fraction and he slides his other hand down to touch lower, listening to House's beautiful, rhythmic moans.

He's so turned on, what he'd really love to do was to lay House down and crawl all over him. Smell him, touch him, see him, feel him, taste him, his chest, between his legs, his neck, his fingers. He undoes his pants and forces House back onto the table, climbing after him, urgently jostling his legs apart and bringing their sexes together. Oh, yeah, he was home. If home was on top of his fifty-year-old, handsome, sexy, frustrating, loyal, best friend!

"Wilson!" House breathed a laugh, then grimaced in pain and hissed, his back arching and he pushed at Wilson's hip. "Ow! Your zipper!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Wilson's blush took on another shade of red. He shifted carefully and quickly pushed his pants further down around his thighs. Then he slowly lowered himself again, watching House's eyes close as their balls touched and their dicks slid together. Oh god, he wanted this so much, wanted still more. House's open-mouthed gasps mingled with the chafed sounds of skin rubbing on skin. Wilson groaned, a wave of arousal taking him, his hips beginning to slowly roll in a waxing, primeval rhythm, his gonads dragging him along.

Suddenly he was this sexy creature that knows exactly what to do, awkwardness gone to hell. His hand gripped House's leg and folded it towards his chest, holding him open, available, for Wilson. He shuddered, their joined scents making him high. He scrambled to yank up his shirt under his armpits and lay fully back on House's naked, oily, hot skin, his own skin drinking him in, consuming him.

He wanted, wanted so much, his hips going in supple, fluid little digs, wants to go inside, deeper, wanted to be with House, on him, on his warm, smooth skin, in his arms, his arms and thighs around him, under his skin, inside, hot, hot and slick, welcoming him, wanting him too, needing him, melting, mingling, mixing, together. Gasps, sweat, sweet keening, slapping, wet, hot, blind, fingers in his hair, hand on his back, clawing, keening, yah – yah – yah, whispers, broken words, House – House – House, coming, coming, hot and slick, wet, liquid – perfect.

When he left House's office full of verve, his shirt ruined, wearing House's jacket to cover it, he smiled like you would on a sunny spring day, just having managed to get your hands on your mom's freshly baked pie, savoring it under a blossoming cherry tree.

That's when he ran into Cuddy. Oh, Mom's discovered him and the pie! They were almost nose to nose.

"Hi!" He had never felt so trapped in his life. He smiled at her desperately, reflexively gripping her shoulders in a greeting he had seen broke sales men give each other, but also to steady himself on his wobbly knees.

"I-I-I gotta go – ananan emergency page!" He managed the words, looking pleadingly into Cuddy's genuinely shocked face that seemed to say 'oh god, now he's finally had his major nervous breakdown'. But it quickly transformed into a horrified, disbelieving stare when she took in his entire appearance, including his smell and House's jacket. He felt his stomach drop and his eyes widen in fear at the sudden flash of jealousy in her eyes. The sound coming from his larynx was similar to a squawk when he said "See ya!" and his disobedient, twitchy limbs let him prance away in a wide curve and into his own office.

Save, he locked the door and fell back against it, closing his eyes firmly, panting. He let his head fall forward into his hands, rubbing his face and groaned. He rarely had been this embarrassed. And he was a little worried about House – he would have to deal with Cuddy on his own. When the sleeve of the jacket brushed his cheek he caught the tiniest whiff of House's scent. He felt warmth spread in his stomach, like swallowing the first bite of the still warm pie. He smiled and brought the sleeve to his nose, inhaling. Then he took the collar and buried his nose in it, taking in deep breaths. He felt like he was fifteen again, his first crush's forgotten scarf a substitute for the real thing. House smelt like man, a hint of spicy musk and bitter coffee, a little like sweat, like books and like clinic. And he thought of House asking him,

"Wanna sleep in my room tonight?"

END


End file.
